I have always liked candlelight and never liked the smell of an extinguished candle. Lately, stepping outside to blow my candle out in the fresh air, just before I get in bed for the night, has become a favorite moment of many nights. Even with the dark and chill off the sea, I can't resist the stars, must pilgrimage down the steps and to the edge of the yard, cupping my lit votive, to greet the stars and moon in the noise of the passing traffic. I feel like a high priestess or a young pagan nun at such times — and full of wonder, full of solemnity, myself familiar (just a very little bit) to the night sky.